


tell me how many burdens left?

by lilacswirls



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: And she has nobody to talk to, Camelot, Depression, Emma is still dealing with being the dark one, F/M, How Do I Tag, Kinda, Loneliness, Not Beta Read, Season 5A
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacswirls/pseuds/lilacswirls
Summary: Her hands twitch, almost imperceptibly, a good effort at concealing how uneasy the voices make her, and damn it if Killian didn’t know her so well that he notices. His eyebrows furrow just a little, and his previously comforted gaze now scans her up and down, checking even closer just to make sure she isn’t hiding some secret injury that’s causing her pain. She tries to smile gently, to reassure him that she’s fine, but she can’t tell if it helps.Set in season 5a, while they're still in Camelot and before he takes her to the field.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	tell me how many burdens left?

It’s not like Emma Swan talked about the voices curling into her head like contented cats, kneading at her brain until her resolve pulled like taffy.

Her parents were too unwaveringly good. She would look at them and they’d smile, and it used to feel like coming home, like the smell of cinnamon, and she’d melt into their open embrace like sinking into a warm bath. Now, they smile, and she feels the sharp pang of regret, of bad decisions, of rejection. She feels them twisting the knife into the wound in her gut, the pain of being abandoned and left to fend for herself. It’s far easier to forget then forgive. When she puts those familiar walls back up behind her eyes in order to hide any emotion, it’s like a weight settling upon her chest. Heavy, uncomfortable, but normal. She knows that the loss of breath is the price she has to pay for safety.  
No, if she confided in her parents, they’d try to fix it. They’d hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay. They’d hide their fear from her in order to keep her hope alive. And she’d let them.

Henry, he was too young. He was a believer, through and through, and Emma could not change his nature nor would she hope to. No matter how old he got, she would always see the ten year old who knocked on her apartment door and took her to a home she hadn’t known, but was immensely grateful for. Henry looks at her, and she can feel his trust. She can feel his hope embedded within his gaze, and it burns. He wouldn’t want her to hurt anyone but sometimes, that’s all the agitated voices in her skull can talk about (killhurttearmanglerazeburndestroydestroyDESTROY). Sometimes, an old, familiar, venomous voice in the very base of her head will whisper insecurities and they all sound like fear. Fear that Henry would’ve been better off without her, fear that he has misplaced his trust with her and fear that she will never be the mother that he needs, that he deserves. It’s times like that when she finds herself particularly swayed toward the temptations of the powers that she now holds inside her body.  
No, if she confided in Henry, he would remind her of all the good things she’d done for her family, for the people of Storybrooke. She wasn’t sure if she could swallow the words that threatened to burst from her tongue, of “maybe that’s not me. Maybe I’m just too damaged. Maybe this is all I have for me, now. All that can keep me safe.” 

She’d almost gone to Regina, once. Heard her steps on the pavement as she walked toward Regina’s house, too lost in thought to remember that she could simply appear upon her doorstep. Emma had raised her fist to knock on her door, pausing just before her knuckles could hit the wood. She had lowered her hand. She felt the jolt of each of her footfalls as she walked away, not quite knowing why she was leaving. Regina knew what it was like to give in to darkness. She had fought it before and lost, just as Emma feared she would, too. Regina knew the grit of a crushed heart between her fingers, she knew the fire of a village burned just to make a point, knew the white-hot anger that grew spikes like mirror shards deep inside the pit of her stomach. They had history, for sure, lots of it bad, but they trusted each other now and besides, Emma had given her the dagger in Camelot for a reason, right?   
No, if she confided in Regina, she would tell her to meet her problems head-on. Emma knew she couldn’t look her in the eye and hold back the part of her that wanted, so badly, to give in and fight like a lion, tear out throats with her teeth and submit to the ruthless itch within her to use her shaking hands to turn people to dust, to set fire to homes purely to feel the heat of the flames dance across her skin. The small ache of reason in her brain would lose, of that she was sure, and the worst part is she would rationalize it by comparing herself to Regina, tell herself that if she just allows herself to indulge, just this once, she can earn forgiveness too. There’s no line she could cross that the Evil Queen hadn’t, and here Regina stands, allies with the heroes. 

Emma was wrenched away from her thoughts by the distant sounds of Killian’s footsteps on the soft spring grass, his footsteps hitting the earth in an even pace that she would know anywhere, could recognize with no other senses. She stands from her place on a fallen tree, turning towards him just as he pushes past the last bit of brush and enters the clearing.   
Her eyes meet his and she can see them softening, can see some of the worry, however small, melt away as he confirms her safety.   
"It’s not your safety they should be worried about, dearie," Not-Rumplestiltskin says from behind her, voice dripping with venom.   
Her hands twitch, almost imperceptibly, a good effort at concealing how uneasy the voices make her, and damn it if Killian didn’t know her so well that he notices. His eyebrows furrow just a little, and his previously comforted gaze now scans her up and down, checking even closer just to make sure she isn’t hiding some secret injury that’s causing her pain. She tries to smile gently, to reassure him that she’s fine, but she can’t tell if it helps.   
“What’re you doing out here by yourself, love?” He asks, stepping so close to her that he takes his hand and pinches the material between his thumb and index finger, rubbing them together almost as if trying to remind himself that she’s still real.   
“Just… “ She shakes her head slightly and lets her eyes fall to somewhere at her left, “Thinking.” She brings her eyes back to his and tries that small smile again.   
Killian’s eyes search hers as if trying to find a way inside her brain, hoping to find some comfort in just looking at her.  
“Swan, it seems like something’s bothering you,” How quickly they had learned to communicate without clumsy words, “Telling might make it easier.”   
“I don’t…” want to talk about it, she had been about to say, but something in his face had made the words die on her tongue. She swallowed, hard, hoping that might help clear some of the overwhelming white noise that seemed to take over her already-stressed brain. Steadying herself, she spoke. “I want to tell you.”   
He kept his eyes on hers, his intensity almost too much. His eyebrows raised slightly as if to encourage her to continue. Instead, Emma grabbed his hand and led him back to the log she had been sitting on before, going back to her spot as she tugged him down to sit beside her.   
“I’ve already told you about the voice, yes? It looks… he looks like Rumplestiltskin and nobody else can see him, but he wants me to do all these horrible things. And he’s always there,” she pauses, brushes the hair back behind her ears and tries to regulate her breathing. “He doesn’t leave me alone. I can scream as much as I want but he doesn’t care. And I don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to be perfect, I’m the savior, but I’m just… corrupted, now.”   
Emma focuses on his breath, keeping time with it as his chest rises and falls. Expecting a verbal answer, she’s surprised when he shifts his weight and swings a long leg over the fallen tree so there’s one on each side. He reaches out and pulls her towards him, her back flush with his chest, and wraps both arms around her, crossing them and letting them rest on her legs. She leans back, allowing her head to fall against him.   
Old Emma would’ve hated this. She would’ve felt restricted, caged in, feral and wary of any emotion. She would see the naked emotion in Killian’s eyes and ran, too afraid of getting hurt like she had before to let anybody in behind the perfectly constructed barriers she’d built when Neal abandoned her, when the foster families abandoned her, when her parents abandoned her. She would be sucked into those spiraling thoughts of if everyone leaves, it’s better not to let anyone near in the first place, and no love is powerful enough to override the pain once they decide to go. Hell, Old Emma wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place, never would’ve taken on the Darkness in order to protect someone who didn’t deserve it.  
Old Emma would never have allowed herself to be happy.   
That’s why Current Emma isn’t her anymore.   
There they sat, Emma and Killian, for a good few minutes. Reveling in the fact that they were alive. She listened to his heartbeat, so firm and strong underneath all those ridiculous layers he insisted on wearing.   
“Emma, love, can you look at me?”   
She turned her head and sat up straighter in order to fulfill his request. He slid his right arm out from where it was sitting and placed his hand on the side of her face, his fingers gentle as always. He never wanted to hurt her, never wanted to think of it.   
“You took this darkness in the most selfless way possible. You have lived weeks now with a demon inside your head, whispering the most terrible things to you. You are the farthest damn thing from corrupted, love, and we will find a way to get it out of you. I know these thoughts in your head aren’t exactly what your parents might have, but in case you’ve forgotten, I live with those types too. You’re here with me, you like me-”   
Emma is reminded of those three words that she desperately wants to say.   
“not in spite of that darkness inside me, but in conjunction with it. Your darkness doesn’t make you unlovable, Swan, far from it.”  
Emotion is billowing like smoke through her chest and she can hear it in his voice, too, so she doesn’t answer. She simply cradles his face between her hands and kisses him, kisses him like she’s trying to articulate without speech. Kisses him like she’s saying thank you, like she’s saying you’re so good to me,   
Like she’s saying I love you, I love you, I love you.   
And he kisses back like he’s saying I love you, too, of course I do, how could I not?

So, Emma had ended up talking to Killian. She’d wanted to say more, felt the syllables on her tongue, ready to roll off like a prayer, but held herself back. The insecurities hadn’t gone away, that’s not how trauma works, but she had started tipping the anxiety scales from everybody will leave eventually to maybe we can share a little, just a bit, and that’s progress. Killian wasn’t used to being good like her parents, wasn’t terrifyingly positive like Henry, didn’t reluctantly change like Regina. No, he had changed once he saw himself how she had. He saw his actions and knew they were painful, so he worked on himself with no expectation of reward but a consuming hope that maybe, maybe Emma would choose him. And she had. He hadn’t expected anything of her but she gave it regardless.  
Yes, she had confided in Killian. And he had loved her more for it, hadn’t made her fearful of his reaction.  
Maybe they really would find hope for her in Camelot.

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly just me trying to get back into the swing of writing fics, so it might not be too coherent. Thank you for reading, though! I really do appreciate it.


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